Jack Frost nippin...

1. Feeble thoughts while I freeze my azzz off in the apartment. As a kid, I experimented er, childishly: I once placed a pan of water on our back steps in SF when we were living there, and thought it would freeze overnight. Not. Or, I often entertained the thought of an egg frying on the sidewalk under a blazing hot day. Now that I'm grown, all I can think of when the temperature drops into the 30's is my residency stupidity. Picture this: palm trees, sloshing waves along the shoreline, flip flops strewn next to a towel, Maui Jim dark glasses surveying mobile deliciousness, yeah, baby, the only frosty I'll ever see is my red bean, fluorescent snow cone which I'll be sucking down! 'Snap back to reality...'(thanks Eminem). Instead, the only sound I hear is the cha-chinging gas and electric bill as it rockets into the stratosphere; and the grunting inability of cardio/weight lifting barely cracking a sweat in the frigid gym.

2. So, there was this guy that fell asleep during a United Express flight. And when he woke up the plane was dark, cold, and he was locked on board in Houston. There is a happy ending to the story,
but how does this even happen? The Airline would not refund (!) his ticket, instead giving him a hotel voucher. Dueling attorney's probably lit up his cell phone like a Christmas tree.

3. Paul Walker. Ok, I confess, I'm a 'Fast and Furious' ho. The man was too young; too charismatic, too kind...forever young.

4. Nelson Mandela. January 18, 1918-December 5, 2013. A blazing light in the dark.

Drove my Chevy to the...

Fifty years ago in the summer of 1963, John Kennedy, visited Hawaii to address a conference of mayors. Thousands, 6 deep, thronged the streets as his motorcade moved through downtown Honolulu. I don't exactly remember why, but I found myself embedded at the airport, eschewing the chaotic city streets for a glimpse of the President as he caught his return flight back to the mainland. I was perched far enough behind the surging mass to have an unobstructed view of Jack Kennedy as he turned at the top of the boarding platform waving...his hair, shockingly more auburn than any photo had ever depicted.

Months later my senior class picnic was held at Bellows Field Beach, a wild, beautiful stretch of sand and surf near the town of Waimanalo.  I was driving my blue convertible Chevy Nova; the car packed with girls, towels, and illicit cigarettes. Tunes were blaring from the radio; an excursion from the mundane rigor of high school was always an excuse for hi jinks. We were the top dogs, the alphas and we were going to enjoy every second of the day. It was 9:00 when we left the campus. Somewhere between the school and Bellows Field, with the radio cutting in and out and the breaking news marred by heavy static, we learned Jack Kennedy had died in Dallas. Every person in the car began to cry. I was emotionally paralyzed behind the wheel. To this day, I have no idea how the car did not lurch off the road. When we returned to the school, the nuns led us in the rosary via an intercom. I drove my Chevy not to the levee, but home; retrieved my cigarettes and retreated to the park behind my house. There after lighting the first smoke, I balled my eyes out; my adolescence crushed, like so many others, fluttered hopelessly under the Hawaiian sun.

True Blue

1. Joni Mitchell. The greatest songwriter, recording artist of her generation turned 70 on Thursday. Her songs have been covered through the decades by Judy Collins, Crosby, Still, Nash and Young, Tori Amos, Hole, Annie Lennox, Prince, etc. etc. Her album, Blue, is the crown jewel in her long and storied career which has spanned 4 decades often weaving in and out of musical genres...from acoustic to jazz, to pop.  Never afraid to cross over and experiment, her music spurred collaborations (the list is long) with Mingus, Jaco Pastorius, Peter Gabriel, Pat Metheny, Willie Nelson, and Tom Petty among others. A Canadian national treasure Joni Mitchell was awarded a Companion of the Order of Canada, only the third recording artist to have that honor bestowed. Leonard Cohen, and Gordon Lightfoot are the other two.

2. Blue is the Warmest Color. I went. I watched. I loved it. Like all thought provoking artistic endeavors which differ from subjective concepts of the norm, there is a shit storm that surrounds it. Banned in Idaho. As an artist, conservative backlash like that, um, bring it on. Can't stand the heat? Get out of the fire. The author, Julie Maroh, of the book, 'Le Blue est une Coleur Chaude which the movie was based on blasted what she saw. I respect Maroh's critique, but when you give your work up to another medium, visions often collide. Abdellatif Kechiche, the director, has been smacked down by his two young actors. The 10 minute scene has been dissected over and over again. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you've been floating with Bullock in another galaxy. Is there a lot of 'skin?' In the context of the story, no. In the actual protracted scene, yes. Understand this, though, this is a very French film. It's 3 hours. It is packed with dialogue. Tight camera shots. Intimate excursions...dining, bars, school, demonstrations...hand held cameras; roiling tension, vulnerability, and growth. This is not just a coming out. It is Adele's story. Mostly. And Emma's too. It is a complex journey which spans 5 years. It is ultimately unrequited love. This is not a film for everyone. No doubt there will be dialogue and bitching for days. But, if you're living outside the lines, that's nothing new. Kudos to the French jury for presenting the Palme d'Or, Cannes, 2013 to this movie. It took stones. In years to come, this film in every aspect, will be the benchmark by which all others in this genre are measured.

'If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear...'

If you know the rest of the lyrics, then maybe you were part of the fabric. Summer of love. 1967. Legend has it that John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas wrote the song in 20 minutes. The Euros embraced it; the song holding #1 on charts across the pond. Back home in the States, the whiff of incense and weed beckoned. Everybody wanted to come to San Francisco.

But, if you missed the wedding then, it's hard to take you on that magic carpet now. You had to be there; the unchecked pandemonium; the liberating self-discovery; the claustrophobic, condensed adventures within the Haight Ashbury.

Lone Mt. College, class of 68. Fuckya! Several blocks removed from the Panhandle, hippie hill, and that infamous intersection. 45th reunion. For approximately 5 hours, down at 'the' wharf, is there any other, past the watering hole along the Embarcadero where most of us bellied up to the bar with our fake id's...colors became more luminescent, edges softer, depth of field: no LSD. Who we had become, expansive; prodigious unfolding mysteries. Generous in the noon light. Dispatched middle-age. Post menopausal. Bound up in a love affair, that spans decades. Like clusters of stars that illuminate and dazzle existentially, migrating in and out of galaxies, we are there. If you're lucky, you can place the face with the name. But, who cares? Intimacy sweeps the room. For those fleeting moments, you remember where you were and who you broke bread with. That is what you take back with you. Resonating. Across the miles.

...Sent to Draaaain..

1.Yeah, slow night on the telly, but wait, what's this I see? Why it's the film, 'Lincoln.' Which I brushed aside when it was in hyper distribution. Darling of the critics, starring the male 'Streep.' The chameleon. The great Daniel Day Lewis. Hardware spilling from his trophy case. I watched, dazzled by the brilliant performance. And what tweaked a nerve, as I poured myself a
shot of Jameson, is politics have not evolved; it could be 1864 up on Capitol Hill today. Or as Yogi Berra would exclaim: 'it's deja vu all over again.' Befuddlement reigns. A group of white men are holding the country hostage. Over a bill which is Law. Dopily, I went to one of my favorite government weather sites for a weekend update and found it blacked out, a tiny casualty of this childish tantrum. If this is a pissing contest, fellas, the train has already left the station, and you're pissing into the wind.

2. In October, it's always Smashing Pumpkins time. Half Moon Bay. The top of the heap, my friends. Slabs of fields emerging from the fog, splashed with orange from the road to the seashore; magical buoys heralding costumes. Candy. The occasional trickster.

3. 'Blue is the Warmest Color.' Awarded the coveted PalmeD'Or, the highest honor at Cannes this year. Tunisian Director, Adellatif Kechiche. French actors, Lea Seydoux and Adele Exarchopoulos. Apparently, the Director is fuming over the interviews given by his young stars, who have criticized his filming technique, in particular the 10 days it took to film the central erotic segment of the movie. Kechiche wants distribution stopped. Film opens Oct 25th. What this guy needs to understand is that

his train has also left the station.

Tricks

First rain of the fall. So long summer, we hardly knew you. It was an odd weather pattern, not the usual debilitating heat, playing tricks on my tomato crop. A flat season most def. The Julietts didn't

spawn prolifically; the black Cherokee snubbed it's crop at the fog and one of the early Girl's up and died. Bring on the pumpkins.

1. Obi-Wan addressing the Imperial Republican House: "This is not the Bill (Obecare) you want. It has already passed. Move along now. Back to your sandbox."

2. The Pope might need a Jedi mind trick too. He may sound like he's backing off abortion and gays.  But, he's not. It's all feeble talk. Let's see the walk.

3. Meandering through the cemetery, there isn't a better place to conjure up the lives of others by their headstones. Or the lay of the land through it's dichotomy. The Asians, Jews, hoi polli, and soldiers, populate the bottom tier, the ground floor. Rising above in varying levels, the crypts of the wealthy, layered and insulated from the dust below. Flowers, offerings of food and incense, balloons and totems of rocks dot the graves. Markers on top of markers. The best? I have walked, jogged, past a large pinkish headstone at least 100 times, and it never fails to disappoint; someone, friend or family, always leaves a consumed 5th of whiskey or an empty pint bottle tilted carefully against the memorial. Sometimes it has flowers in it, more often then not it is just the bottle nestled there among the blades of grass. Never fails to make me smile.

4. When you're not sunk into the couch watching the NFL, stream Borgen, or Spiral. Two worthy series from the Euros. One is Danish, the other French. These are good riveting productions.

Tall in the Saddle

1. Elmore Leonard died last week. He was 87. Most notably recognized for his crime/noir fiction, Mr. Leonard's (he is esteemed and ranks high in my pantheon therefore, 'Mr') works first caught the attention of Hollywood in the 50's. However, it was a novel, 'Get Shorty' and a subsequent movie in 1995 that catapulted Mr. Leonard into the public eye. Another novel, 'Rum Punch' attracted Quentin Tarantino, who adapted and cast Pam Grier into the title role and called the film, 'Jackie Brown,' arguably the best movie that QT has ever made. A short story of Mr. Leonard's, 'Fire in the Hole,' is the underpinning for the successful cult series, 'Justified.' But back to the 50's. I'll bet that only true aficionados knew Mr. Leonard was a prolific short story Western writer. His dialogue and his obvious fondness for Western genre became a source, a flowing river of gold, for films such as: Valdez is Coming, Hombre, the classic 3:10 to Yuma, Joe Kidd, and a movie I recently watched, and which some refer to as the best Western of the 50's, The Tall T. Elmore Leonard. He was old school. Colorful. And a man among boys.

2. Best summer reading: 'Canada' by Richard Ford. 'The Art of Fielding' by Chad Harbach.

3. Monday. Honor Labor.